


Marvel Drabble Pile

by Lexx_Ishi



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Drabble Collection, Gen, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexx_Ishi/pseuds/Lexx_Ishi
Summary: Sometimes I have an idea for a scene that isn't really a complete fic. Often it's just a brief idea or a one-liner I wanted to write down. I usually don't do anything with them after I write them. However, I felt a few might be shareable so I plan to put them here as I complete them.What you'll find inside: Clint and Wanda share a brief moment of pain at the end of A:AoU.





	Marvel Drabble Pile

**Author's Note:**

> Title: She  
> Summary: Clint and Wanda share a brief moment of pain at the end of A:AoU.  
> Word Count: 495  
> Warnings: Metaphors. Spoilers for A:AoU.

Clint didn't want to think at all, for a while. He was battered. Bruised. And he hadn't really believed he would live to see the end of today. Somehow, he had. But he was so tired.

The archer just let his head rest against the thinly padded seat under his body and allowed the familiar thrum of the hellicarrier's engines lull his mind into a nice, long, blank fuzz. Not sleeping. He was too exhausted to sleep. But it was nice to not think for a while.  
  
When he opened his eyes, she was standing there.  
  
He'd read her SHIELD file but he didn't remember how young she was, exactly. He wasn't a great judge of age either. Maybe eighteen? Maybe younger than that, but maybe older, early twenties? His tired thoughts buzzed. Anyway, too young. Too young for that haunted look. Standing there, staring at him like nothing was alive behind her open eyes. Like she was walking dead.  
  
Zombie movies had never been very thrilling for Clint Barton. No matter how good the actors were, their eyes always looked alive. He had seen real walking corpses. Not the undead, but soldiers. Men and women still up and walking around, though there was nothing they wanted to live for anymore. He wished to hell he wasn't reminded of that now.  
  
Clint slowly sat up. There was something that felt like a heavy weight centered on the base of his spine, something pulling him downward, down toward the center of the Earth. He had lost men on missions before.  
  
This was different.  
  
Clint's eyes flicked to the doorway, where a metallic, red-shaded form stood. The Vision watched her with what Clint assumed was concern, though it was hard to tell on the somewhat inhuman face. If Vision was here because someone thought she was going to be a threat to Clint, then Clint wanted him gone.  
  
"You were there," she spoke, drawing his attention back to her. Her accented words were as flat as her eyes. But Clint heard what she was really saying.  
  
_Your fault._  
  
Clint levered himself to his feet. Despite having a few inches of height on the young female, he steadily met her eye. The wound in his side from flying debris trickled wetness against his skin, but someone had at some point padded it and wrapped it up in gauze when Clint's mind had been drifting. Training kept his face blank through the pain of aching body and exhaustion. "Yes," he said, accepting both of her statements. He couldn't do anything less.  
  
She needed more than that. She deserved more. "He died defending his people."  
  
She swayed for a moment, and Clint held out his hand, but then she stood firm. She didn't say anything else. He saw a flickering of red in her eyes that was gone before he could tense.  
  
Then she turned and walked out of the room. The Vision stood aside and let her go.


End file.
